7th Sunday of Easter Year A

7th Sunday of Easter May 24, 2020 When Mary Margaret was a preschooler, she hated taking naps. She would fight and resist until finally, I said, “Ok, you don’t have to take a nap, but you do have to stay in your room and be quiet for a certain amount of time.” This plan started off great, until a little bit of time passed, and MM called out, “Is it time yet?” “Not yet!” I replied patiently the first time and then with gradually decreasing patience every time after. “Is it time yet?” “Not yet!” until I finally just gave up and let her out. It started the dame way the next day and the day after that until I did what desperate mother’s do when they have the option: I called my mamma, and of course, she knew what to do. I told MM that I was going to put a timer in the hallway outside her bedroom door, and so when the timer went off, she would know it was time to come out. (This plan had an added benefit, which I recently confessed to MM, which allowed me to creep quietly outside her door and add time to the timer because I knew either she needed more quiet time or I did.) “Is it time yet?” the disciples ask the risen Christ. “Is it time for you to restore the kingdom of Israel?” Jesus tells them that it is not for them to know the times that God has set, but they can know that they will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon them, and they will be his witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. As Jesus is telling them this, he ascends to heaven, and his disciples are all left there, probably with their mouths hanging open and starting up after him. And as they are standing and staring, suddenly two men in white robes appear and tell them “It’s not time yet. He’ll come back, but it’s not time yet.” So the disciples return to the room where they are staying, and they stay there and pray together. The 7th Sunday of Easter is always a strange, in-between sort of time in the liturgical year—an already but not yet kind of time. This past Thursday, we celebrated the Feast of the Ascension and next Sunday, we celebrated the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. We know the spirit is coming because Jesus has promised this gift, but it’s not time yet. “Is it time yet?” our ecumenical partners have begun asking our bishop-elect. “Is it time yet?” our bishop-elect wonders what the clergy think. “Is it time yet?” we clergy ask each other. “Is it time yet?” some of you are asking. Two weeks ago our vestry had an important conversation, but we weren’t even trying to answer the question, “Is it time yet?” But rather we were reflecting on the question, “What will we need to do when it is time?” What will church need to look like when it is time?” What will we need to do to try our best and hardest to keep everyone safe? As we talked through the options, it became clear to us that when it is finally time, much of what we have known and loved about doing church together will have to look different—no nursery or choral singing; probably no coffee hour; all wearing masks when entering and leaving; no touching or hugging and staying 6 feet apart (which may have to include ushers telling you where to sit), and there were so many other creative and responsible questions asked by your vestry. Quickly the conversation moved from beyond “Is it time yet?” and “what will we need to do when it is time?” to questions such as “Can we engage with each other more and more meaningfully the way we are doing church now than what in person would have to look like, fell like, be like? And then they started thinking about the most vulnerable ones of you, how you would feel if some of us came back before you felt it was safe, ,and how we would feel if you came back before we knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was safe. It’s not time yet. Even though the Catholics are starting back to in person worship; even though our President is saying it is necessary, we know it is not time yet because we trust the promise of our Lord that he is with us, even now, in what we do—in continuing to be the church even when we are not together in these walls, in caring for each other and caring for those in need. We trust the promise of our Lord that we will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon us. And we trust our bishop-elect and we trust each other. That’s part of what it means to be the church. And so we stay home and wash our hands, and we wear our masks in public when we have to go out, and we listen to our bishop-elect, even as he listens to us, and we continue to pray together, even as we wait. But as you all well know, we have not ceased being the church. In closing, I want to share with you a reflection written by a seminary classmate of ours who is also the Bishop-elect of the Diocese of Missouri, the Rev Deon Johnson: “The work of the church is essential. The work of caring for the lonely, the marginalized, and the oppressed is essential. The work of speaking truth to power and seeking justice is essential. The work of being a loving, liberating, and life giving presence in the world is essential. The work of welcoming the stranger, the refugee and the undocumented is essential. The work of reconciliation and healing and caring is essential. The church does not need to “open” because the church never “closed”. We who make up the Body of Christ, the church, love God and our neighbors and ourselves so much that we will stay away from our buildings until it is safe. We are the church.”